The Taste of Plagued Cherry.

The google definition of the word plague is as follows; (verb): to cause continual stress or trouble to. I seem to be in at least a partially self induced plague. 1 part medicinal (sore throat) and 1 part escape (heart break) I have spent the last few days chugging cherry cough syrup crying out bitter diatribes and watching television reruns ala Netflix in an effort to just numb my all too real 35 years old reality.

Passover is a time for breaking the chains of what we find ourselves enslaved to. I find myself enslaved to self doubt, making unfair comparisons of my life vs. friends’ and the partial hankering to just “give up” (…which I am not sure what that exactly would entail as I’m not suicidal). It is traditional in Judaism this week to go through one’s household and remove the chametz...even the slightest crumbs. Honestly I find the latter part a tad trivial as isn’t it enough to just NOT partake in leavened products as a sign of remembrance and solidarity with my foretribers? I suppose I understand the therapeutic feeling that comes from giving 100% towards any goal (chametz riddance and what not) not to mention isn’t there a song we chant during our seders about how “it could have been enough to just do so and so but G-d took it one step further”?

This year in my post NyQuil binge haze I am challenging myself to go one step further. To clear my emotional chametz and for eight days do my best to replace it with encouragement, affirmations and proactivity. It might taste like lifeless cardboard or leave me with emotional constipation but it’s the price of freedom.